Sir
by Commodore Norrington
Summary: Why does Gibbs hate being called 'sir?
1. Gibbs

"May I help you?"  
"I'm looking for, um," the young woman rooted through her purse, looking for something. She pulled out a small slip of paper. "Agent...Jethro Gibbs. I have a job interview?"  
"So you're Chris' replacement?"  
"I guess so, ma'am," she replied.  
"Oh, please, ma'am makes me sound old. Agent Caitlin Todd," Kate stuck out her hand. "Kate."  
"Pleased to meet you, Agent Todd. Patricia Reed. Pat." The young woman shook her hand. Her grip was firm, confident. Her blonde hair was tied neatly in a French braid and she wore a pantsuit over her shapely form. In all, very professional. Kate liked her instantly, and so offered some friendly advice.  
"Don't mention the coffee. It's always there, and it's not decaf. That's all you need to know. He's pretty tough, but fair. Don't apologize for anything and above all, do not call him –"  
"Miss Reed?" The voice cut Kate off. Agent Jethro Gibbs strode toward them, short silver hair glistening in the fluorescent lights. His piercing blue eyes took in everything, memorizing the details of the encounter for later reference. As his eyes swept over Pat's figure, Kate found herself inexplicably glad that Pat wasn't a redhead.  
"Yes," Pat replied. Kate was heartened. She hadn't had a chance to warn Pat about Gibbs' 'sir'-hatred, but perhaps the girl just wouldn't say it.  
"Follow me."  
Kate flashed Pat a thumbs-up and mouthed, 'Good luck' before returning to her cubicle to finish a report.  
Thirty minutes later, Pat and Gibbs emerged from the conference room. Kate scrutinized both for any sign of how the interview had gone. Pat was smiling, remarkable after her first encounter with Gibbs. Gibbs, as always, was inscrutable. They approached Kate's desk, continuing to talk.  
"We'll call you soon, Miss Reed. Thank you for coming by." Gibbs stuck out his hand, clearly ending the interview.  
"Oh, thank _you_, sir," Pat replied, trying to be gracious. Kate cringed. She had said the 's'-word.  
Gibbs stiffened. His mouth tightened into a very thin line and his eyes hardened. Kate prepared herself for the explosion she was sure was coming, and wondered if she should rush to Pat's aid. There was no explosion, though the alternative was far worse.  
"Miss Reed," he said icily. "While your credentials are excellent, an NCIS agent needs more experience. Agent Todd was in the Secret Service. Agent DiNozzo was a cop. Perhaps in a few years..." he finished, dismissing her.  
Pat's eyes filled, though she was smart enough not to let Gibbs see. To her credit, she managed to walk with grace until she was out of Gibbs' sight. Then she bolted for the restrooms.  
Kate was saddened. She had really liked the young woman. She was also curious. "Hey Gibbs," she called. He looked up. "What's up with you and 'sir', anyway?"  
"I just don't like being called 'sir', all right? That _is_ my prerogative," he added sternly.  
Kate knew when to shut up. However, Gibbs wasn't the only one around NCIS with answers.  
"Hi, Ducky," she said softly.  
"Caitlin! What a lovely surprise. I was just finishing up on this young man, who had the misfortune to get caught in the middle of two firearms. Poor fellow," he sighed.  
Kate glanced briefly at the body on the table before turning back to Ducky. "Interesting," she said. "But actually, I have a question."  
"Ah, of course. Fire away."  
"Do you know why Gibbs hates being called 'sir'?"  
Ducky stopped. He looked through her, nodding slightly, clearly thinking.  
"Yes...yes I do." He paused. "Jethro was, as you know, a gunnery sergeant in the Marines. As such, he was accustomed to addressing officers as 'sir' and not being addressed so himself. I think that is part of what makes him uncomfortable."  
"And the other part?" Kate pressed, sensing more.  
Ducky sighed. "I don't know this for sure," he warned. "But I have gathered some information about Jethro's early life in my years here. His father, unfortunately, was not exactly a saint. He drank heavily and would, on occasion, strike his only son. He also forced his son to call him 'sir'. I believe this is a large part of why Jethro hates being called 'sir'; it identifies him with his father."  
Kate was stunned. She had never known anything about Gibbs' early life, and this was not exactly the kind of thing one was thrilled to discover. It explained a lot, though.  
"Thanks, Ducky," she said absently, moving back toward the elevator.  
"You're welcome, Caitlin," he replied sadly.  
Kate walked slowly back into the bullpen. She saw Gibbs at his desk, working hard as usual, and felt an unexpected upsurge of emotion. She had never bothered to think what was behind the irascible former Marine's behavior. Now she was troubled to learn of his unfortunate past. Why had he never told anyone? Stupid question, she admonished herself. Gibbs never told anyone anything.  
As she settled into her seat, watching Gibbs across the aisle, she could almost see the boy inside the man. A small, almost scrawny little boy, trying desperately not to cry as his father railed at him.  
_'You will respect me!'  
'I'm sorry! I didn't mean – '  
'You're a disrespectful little brat, boy! What do you say?'  
'Yes, sir.'  
_ Kate blinked back tears. She wanted to reach out to the little boy, to help him, but the little boy was now a grown man. He had a thick shell, too, keeping everyone out. How _could_ she help him? 


	2. Tony

"Bar fight, Tony?"  
"No," he fired back quickly. Then he sighed. "No. My dad came up for the weekend, and we had a good ol' time." He forced a smile.  
Kate gave him a concerned look. The left side of his jaw was black and blue and swelling slightly. "Your dad hit you?"  
"Kate, it's not a big deal. He's a big fan of 'tough love' is all."  
"Tony, that's not 'tough love'; that's abuse."  
"I'm a big boy, Kate. I can deal with it."  
"You shouldn't have to deal with it."  
"Drop it," interrupted a gruff voice. Gibbs brushed past them on his way to his desk, coffee in hand, his face an expressionless mask.  
Kate wisely obeyed, but she continued to watch both Tony and Gibbs surreptitiously. Gibbs was poring over a file, scowling; Tony was whistling as he typed a report. How could two men with such similar backgrounds be so different?  
Tony's cell phone chirped and he answered it, glancing furtively at Gibbs. The boss didn't seem to have noticed, but Tony knew better. Gibbs noticed everything. Tony figured that since Gibbs hadn't said anything, he was free to answer.  
"Hey," he said in a low voice. Despite the volume, Kate could not mistake the charm in his tone. "We still on for tonight?"  
Kate rolled her eyes. _Figures_, she thought. _A woman_. Tony continued, oblivious to his colleague's disgust. Gibbs, however, was also beginning to take notice of his conversation.  
"Oh, yeah," Tony moaned. "Sounds great."  
"Get off the phone, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, fed up. Kate detected a note of something other than the usual annoyance in his voice. His eyes were blazing and she remembered the unusually bad mood he'd been in lately.  
"Yes, boss," Tony replied, hanging up instantly.  
"Didn't your father teach you not to take personal time at work?"  
Kate gasped. Gibbs could be tough, strict, and bull-headed, but he was never cruel. His comment though, was decidedly nasty, a kill-shot, intended to inflict maximum damage. It worked. Kate saw a flash of pain in Tony's eyes, followed quickly by anger. He stood quickly, almost upending his chair, and fled the room, muttering some excuse about the restroom.  
"That was a little harsh, don't you think?" Kate said quietly.  
"He needs to learn." Gibbs replied easily, though Kate thought she saw a fleeting look of regret in his eyes.  
"But to say that, about his father..."  
"He's too glib about his childhood. He doesn't take it seriously enough. Somebody's got to teach him that not everyone needs to know –" he stopped abruptly, realizing he'd said more than he intended. "Never mind."  
"Not everyone needs to know what? That his father hit him? That he was a child who needed help? That –"  
"Stop!"  
Kate did, stunned. She had never heard Gibbs shout. He was too calm, too calculating. He never acted on emotion; she sometimes wondered if he even had emotions. Now, however, he was seething.  
"You don't understand! You can't just go around talking about something like that! It's a family matter, a private issue. You deal with it by yourself, because it's your problem!"  
Kate sensed that they were no longer talking about Tony. She wondered if they ever had been. She watched Gibbs, fascinated, not daring to speak for fear of being shut out again.  
"He needs to learn to keep things to himself. He's never been able to do that. Ever notice that every date, every girl, everything that happens in his life we get a blow-by-blow account? He needs to learn how to shut up and deal with it by himself!"  
"Like you?" Kate asked, despite herself. His eyes narrowed, getting her between his sights. She knew he was about to explode, to ream her out for invading his privacy, but he didn't. He kept his voice barely controlled, but controlled nonetheless.  
"Yes, like me."  
"But Tony's _not_ you, Gibbs. He deals with things his own way. You turn in; he turns out. You bottle it up; he gets it out. That's how it is. You can't expect him to be just like you." Kate surprised herself. She hadn't meant to say so much, or be so confrontational, but she guessed it needed to be said. Gibbs, to her surprise, did not look outraged. He seemed, instead, almost defeated. It was rather disconcerting to see the indomitable Gibbs looking so beaten.  
"You're right," he whispered. "He _is_ different. Thank God," he laughed shakily. "We don't need another me around here."  
"That's for sure," Kate smiled with him.  
"Look, Kate, I'm tough on Tony because I know he can do better. I know about his father, and tell you the truth, that's part of it. He doesn't need a soft hand; he needs to know that all discipline isn't like that. I," he hesitated, as if wondering whether to open himself up any more than he already had. "I didn't learn that till it was too late."  
Kate was shocked. She knew most of this already, instinctively, but to hear it from Gibbs' own mouth was incredible. She was honored that he would open up to her, but she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Gibbs got up to get more coffee, leaving Kate to process the events of the day.  
"Agent Todd! Why aren't you working on that report?"  
Kate smiled slightly as she got back to work. _Same old Gibbs_. 


	3. A Case

"Grab your gear. We're going out."  
The words, as always, came with no explanation. Kate and Tony dutifully hiked their bags onto their backs and headed toward the car, knowing better than to question an order.  
The crime scene was the usual circus of police, MPs, and even an ambitious reporter or two. The NCIS team fought their way inside the small base-housing unit, flashing their badges as required. Finally arriving at what was apparently the master bedroom, they were greeted by a grisly sight. A woman lay on the bed in an unnatural position, her head twisted too far in one direction and a bruise developing on her jaw. She was covered completely, except for her head and hands, by her clothing: a sweater and jeans.  
"That's weird," Kate commented.  
"What?" Tony inquired, snapping photos.  
"It's the middle of June. Why was she wearing a sweater and jeans?"  
Gibbs didn't answer. Pulling on a latex glove, he stepped to the side of the bed and rolled up one of her sleeves. Kate gasped; Tony swallowed hard before taking a couple snapshots. The woman's arm was covered in bruises in varying states of recovery. There was hardly a patch of healthy skin to be seen.  
Kate glanced at Gibbs. His jaw was set as he took measurements, his eyes narrowed. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure this one out.  
When Tony went out to talk to the police, Kate stepped closer to Gibbs. "You gonna be okay?" she asked softly.  
"Yeah," he answered, his voice dangerously low and laced with anger. "Soon as we lock the bastard up for good."  
Tony came back into the bedroom. "Police have the husband in custody. Lieutenant Weylin Brinkley. They suspect –"  
"Daddy?" a small voice interrupted. The three whipped around. A small boy, perhaps six or seven, stood in his pajamas in the doorway. Gibbs approached him, smiling gently.  
"What's your name?"  
"Peter," he answered shyly, promptly sticking his thumb in his mouth.  
"Hi, Peter. I'm Jethro. Can I talk to you outside?" The boy nodded, his thumb still firmly in his mouth. Gibbs guided the boy out the door, careful to block his view of the body.  
Kate and Tony exchanged glances before finishing up their processing of the crime scene. By then, Ducky had arrived and was making his preliminary analysis.  
"Where's Gibbs?" he asked. "For once I can approximate the time of death and he's not even here to ask."  
"He's," Tony started, before realizing he didn't know where Gibbs was.  
"He's talking to the son," Kate provided.  
"Still?" Tony asked incredulously.  
"Yes, Tony, some people can have conversations lasting longer than two minutes."  
"Whaddaya got, Duck?" came the familiar voice.  
"Jethro! Just the man I wanted to see. Well, the bruising is definitely pre-mortem. Quite old, in fact. It appears she was struck repeatedly over a long period of time, years maybe. The only one that's really of our concern is this one, on the jaw." He gestured toward it. "I'll have to get inside to know for sure, but it appears something or someone applied such a force to her jaw that it broke her neck."  
"Time of death?" Gibbs asked, his usual casualness only slightly missing.  
"Aha! That I can actually tell you this time! Given the development of the bruise on her jaw, the relative body temperature and the status of rigor, I'd say about no more than 12 hours."  
"Thanks, Duck. Bag her up." Gibbs led Tony and Kate back to the car.  
"What's up with the kid, boss?" Tony asked on the drive back to headquarters.  
"Heard his parents fighting last night. Hid under the bed. Cops didn't see him when they took Lt. Brinkley downtown, so he finally crawled out to see what we were up to."  
"Does he know?"  
Gibbs stared out the window for a few seconds before responding. "Yeah," he said quietly, then added, "You always know," so softly that they barely heard. 


	4. More Explanation

"Gibbs, I got a free interrogation room."  
"No."  
"What?" Tony asked incredulously. "What do you mean, 'No'?"  
"I mean, 'No'. The kid's been through enough; he doesn't need an intimidating environment on top of it all."  
"But, boss," Tony reasoned. "There's nothing else."  
"I don't care, DiNozzo! We'll go in Morrow's office if we have to! We're not talking to him in an interrogation room!"  
"Okay, boss, I'll try and find something else," Tony conceded meekly.  
"Don't try, DiNozzo. Do!"  
  
---------  
  
Kate watched from her desk as Tony and Gibbs interviewed Peter Brinkley. Tony had, apparently, not found anything better than an interrogation room, so they were using Tony's cubicle.  
"Peter, what exactly did you hear last night?" Gibbs asked gently.  
"Daddy was yelling at Mommy, and I was scared, so I hid under my bed. Mommy was crying but Daddy just kept yelling. Then Mommy screamed, real loud, but it stopped real soon. Daddy came into my room, but I was still scared, so I didn't come out. He was crying and then he called the amb'lance."  
"Peter," Gibbs started. "Did your Daddy ever hit your Mommy?"  
The boy looked frightened. Glancing from Tony to Gibbs and back, he nodded slowly. "Sometimes when he gets real mad, he hits Mommy. He always cries and says he's sorry."  
Tony reached over and patted the boy on the shoulder. Kate assumed the gesture was supposed to be comforting, but Peter winced. Gibbs, ever vigilant, did not miss the quickly covered expression of pain.  
"Does he ever hit you?" Gibbs asked quietly, his eyes hardening.  
The boy's eyes filled with tears. "He doesn't mean to," he managed.  
Gibbs jaw stiffened; Tony's face went blank. Kate escorted Peter back to the CPS agent who had brought him over. When she returned, Tony and Gibbs were in a heated argument.  
"We've got him, Gibbs! We can put Lt. Brinkley away for child abuse, spouse abuse, and probably murder."  
"No, we don't, DiNozzo."  
"We've got the victim, Gibbs! What more do we need?"  
"They won't believe him, DiNozzo! They never believe the kid! All we've got is a kid who heard some noises last night and says his dad hits him. The lieutenant's not about to confess. It's his word against the kid's, and who do you think they're going to believe?"  
"The kid, Gibbs! You know how many cases in the past ten years have been prosecuted, based only on the kid's accusation? We've got him! They always believe the kid!"  
"No, DiNozzo! They do not always believe the kid! They didn't believe me!" Gibbs stopped abruptly, eyes blazing, apparently having said too much in the heat of the moment. Tony looked surprised, even shocked. Kate figured Gibbs would shut up, stalk off, never speak of it again. It was her turn to be surprised.  
Gibbs sighed. "I heard noises, too, okay? I heard the same noises I heard every night. Hitting, crying, yelling. But that night, it went longer, louder. When I woke up in the morning, he told me she had had an accident and gone to the hospital. He told me she would be all right, but I knew. I knew..." He paused, taking a raggedy breath. Kate had never seen him so emotional. "I told the police how he always hit her, how he occasionally hit me. But he was an upstanding citizen, involved in the community, on the school board. And I was an eight-year-old kid whose mother had just died. They believed him."  
He stopped. Kate was appalled. How much that explained! Tony looked stunned. "Boss, we...didn't know."  
Gibbs looked up, surprised, like he had forgotten they were there. "Yeah, well, I don't advertise it. Get to work on finding some proof. I want that bastard on the electric chair!"  
Kate almost felt like smiling. That was the Gibbs they knew. But she was too shocked by his story to smile. She could not imagine her father being anything but kind and loving. What would she do if he murdered her mother? How had Gibbs gotten over that? _Well, that's obvious_, she thought. _He hasn't. _


	5. Talking to Peter

"Do you think he'll testify?"  
"Is it worth it?"  
"What?" Tony asked, startled. "I would think you, of all peop –"  
"That's not what I mean," Gibbs interrupted in a tired voice. "What I mean is, if they don't believe him and he goes home to his father...will he survive? He's going to get it worse than ever since his mother's gone, and his father will hardly be happy that the kid smeared his image like that. Is it worth the risk?"  
"They will believe him, Gibbs," Tony answered softly. "Things are different today. Today the jury is, if anything, biased in the kid's favor. Today we have forensic evidence. They will believe him and we will win." The last came out more forcefully than Tony intended and he sat back in his seat, embarrassed.  
Gibbs smiled vaguely at the younger man's passion. "That is, if he testifies."  
"Which brings us back to my original question. Do you think he will?"  
Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Frowning slightly, he considered the question more carefully. Finally, he answered. "I think he will...if you talk to him."  
Tony's eyebrows skyrocketed into his hair. "Wow, boss...confidence. I'm touched."  
"Don't get mushy on me, DiNozzo, or I'll have Kate talk to him."  
  
---------  
  
"Peter, we need to talk to you. About your dad."  
Peter Brinkley looked to Gibbs, his eyes frightened. Gibbs nodded the okay, and the boy turned back to Tony. "Okay," he replied, so quietly they had to strain to hear.  
"Peter, we need you to tell some people what you told us, about how your dad hit your mom. Is that okay?"  
"I don't want to get Daddy in trouble," Peter whispered.  
"We know, Peter. We know you love your dad. And we know you would never want to do anything to hurt him. But he needs help because he's sick. We can only help him if you help us."  
"He told me," Peter shuddered, struggling not to cry. "He told me never to tell."  
"I know, Peter. You're scared that he'll hit you worse if you tell people." Peter nodded. "Can I tell you something? My dad hit me sometimes and I was too scared to tell anyone. And you know what? He kept on hitting me. It got worse, too. It used to just be when I made him mad, but it got to where whenever he was in a bad mood, he'd take it out on me. It won't get any better if you don't tell someone. It'll get worse."  
Peter bit his lip, his eyes darting from Gibbs to Tony. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to nod. "Okay," he said. "I'll tell."  
  
----------  
  
"Thank you, Peter," the prosecutor finished.  
"I have no questions, your honor."  
"You may step down, son."  
Eight-year-old Peter Brinkley, dressed smartly in a suit and tie, climbed down off the witness stand. His small face was streaked with tears and his eyes had the washed-out appearance of someone who had just been crying. Walking past his father to the peanut gallery, he determinedly looked in the other direction.  
A hand reached out and grabbed Peter by the arm. Startled, he looked up into eyes that were normally icy-blue, but today seemed to have melted a little. The stern face beneath silver hair softened slightly as the mouth turned upward into a rare genuine smile. Peter returned the smile as best he could and continued on out the door. He did not see the face turn back toward the front and he did not hear the words it uttered.  
"Thanks, kid." 


End file.
